


Alea Iacta Est

by venndaai



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Crack, Empress Avasarala, F/F, Space Opera, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: Aboard her flagship, the Empress of Earth receives a guest, and a prisoner. Her bodyguard has a bad feeling about this.
Relationships: Chrisjen Avasarala/Bobbie Draper
Comments: 20
Kudos: 72
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Alea Iacta Est

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri Cleo (miri_cleo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/gifts).



> You mentioned liking batshit AUs; I hope this satisfies!

Most of the time, her August Majesty the Empress of Terra held court in her vast palace located on the surface of the planet that was the heart of her realm. This had multiple benefits: it was comfortable and familiar to the Empress, it was supremely luxurious, and any supplicants from the outer territories were required to travel down the gravity well of Earth and were put at a very physical disadvantage when approaching their ruler. 

There were rare times, however, when even the Empress had to make concessions to those of her subjects who could not come to her. 

The flagship of the Imperial Navy circled the blue-white world from a high orbit, constantly accelerating to maintain enough thrust gravity to keep feet on the floor. In a luxurious suite of private rooms, the Empress prepared to meet with the governors of the outer planets.

And in the silk-draped bedroom, the Empress’s aide assisted her in the lengthy process of dressing. A small galaxy of pins and broaches sat on the dressing table, ready to be fastened into place. The current object of focus was an emerald broach.

“I don’t think I’m the best person for this job, ma’am,” Bobbie said, even as her fingers opened the broach. The wealth of gems adorning the object glittered with trapped light, light from the huge planet below them, streaming in through the large windows and captured in the Empress’s jewelry. 

“The job of wardrobe adjuster?” the Empress asked, amused, holding the loose end of fabric still, waiting for Bobbie to pin it back into place. 

“The job of bodyguard to the Empress,” Bobbie said. She was very aware of Avasarala’s shoulder, her neck, even covered by layers of silk and gems. The marks Bobbie had left with her teeth would not be visible even if all those layers were stripped away; the Empress had a very talented servant to do her makeup each morning. 

“Five years in is a little late to be reconsidering the offer,” Avasarala said. “Are you angling for a raise? You’re not going to get it. The budget is a fucking nightmare right now.” 

_ Not enough of a nightmare for you to cut back on the tinsel,  _ Bobbie thought, but what she said was, “I’m not the right person for this job, because the moment I think the galaxy is worse off with you on the throne than it would be with you off it, I will kill you.” 

She saw Avasarala’s fear in the way the woman’s grip went tight on the fabric, in the way all the visible muscles in her neck clenched, and in the way that when Empress turned to face her, her black eyes went straight to the long sharp pin still in Bobbie’s hands, so close to Avasarala’s neck. But then her gaze shifted up to Bobbie’s face, and her smile was still amused. “That,” Avasarala said, “is precisely why you’re the perfect person for this job.”

And as always, Bobbie felt that helpless rush of affection. It wasn’t enough to erase her fears that she’d betrayed her nation for bad reasons, but it was enough to make her smile back. 

  
  


“I’ve brought you the prisoner,” Camina Drummer said. She didn’t bow, or even incline her head, and she spoke to the most powerful woman in the solar system as though speaking to her plumber. She wore no jewels, only a simple dark jumpsuit, and she stood slightly hunched; feeling the gravity, Bobbie would guess. 

She was a Belter, thin and brittle-boned, and Bobbie could snap her in two if she had to; but she wasn’t a threat to underestimated. Bobbie moved a little closer to Avasarala’s side. 

“We appreciate that,” Avasarala said, with a gracious tilt of her head. “Bring her before us.” 

The door behind Captain Drummer slid open, and two Belters stepped through, dragging between them a handcuffed woman. She hung between them, limp and unresisting, and for a moment Bobbie felt a touch of concern before she saw that the woman was breathing. She had the build of an Earther, and when Drummer tilted her head back so the assembled crowd could see the prisoner’s face, it was a familiar one. 

“Clarissa Mao,” Avasarala said. “The last of your traitorous family. Did you really believe you could escape us?” 

Clarissa said nothing, but she spat at the Empress’s feet. Avasarala raised an eyebrow. “Take her to the brig,” she said to her own blue-uniformed security, and turned back to Drummer. “You have done us a great service,” she said.

Drummer’s face twitched. “My pleasure,” she said, each word bitten-off. “Perhaps now we can discuss what you can do for the Belt.”

“Perhaps we can,” Avasarala said, smiling. “But let’s discuss it over drinks. I have heard there’s quite a feast awaiting us in the reception room.”

“I recommend the cucumber sandwiches,” Bobbie said. “They’re mindblowing.”

The Belter’s face twitched again. She looked as surprised as if one of the stately chairs had spoken, and Bobbie grinned at it. Even more pleasantly, she could feel Avasarala sigh in what Bobbie knew to be mingled annoyance, resignation and fondness.  _ Just keeping everyone on their toes, ma’am.  _

“I’ll have to try them,” Drummer said. 

Everyone headed into the vast and obscenely elegant reception room, Drummer now shooting Bobbie intrigued looks which meant she was going to try and talk to the Empress’s infamous traitor Martian. Too bad for her she wouldn’t get the chance. Bobbie bent down to whisper in Avasarala’s ear. “I’m going to check on the prisoner. Make sure she made it safe and sound.”

Avasarala didn’t do anything as visible as raising an eyebrow, and she continued smiling at the Belters and the hordes of diplomats. But there was a questioning tone in her responding murmur. “You have reason to be concerned?”

“Just a feeling,” Bobbie said. “You trust me, right? Because if you don’t, we’re really fucked.”

Avasarala’s sigh was louder this time. “I trust you. Just hurry back here before Admiral Duarte starts crying at me because the trade agreement makes him feel emasculated.”

“Fifteen minutes good enough?”

“Cutting it close.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Bobbie whispered, and then after a moment’s consideration added, “In bed.”

“You sound like such a horny teenager.”

“You love it.”

Bobbie smiled at Captain Drummer, stepped back, and nodded to Cotyar, who came forward from the wall to stand behind the Empress’s chair as Avasarala seated herself in a bustle of fabric and clinking of gems. Thus as reassured of Avasarala’s safety as she could be, Bobbie departed and headed down toward the brig. 

The carpets lining the corridors gave way to bare metal as Bobbie descended towards the stern of the ship, closer to the hum of the enormous engines. The corridor leading to the brig was closed off by a set of blast doors that should have opened automatically at her approach, but didn’t. Bobbie looked around, then pressed herself against one wall, stretching out an arm to flash her ID against the panel. The doors slid open, and there was no sound of gunfire, so Bobbie stepped back out into the corridor. The reason for the closed doors was apparent: at the end of the corridor, the doors leading to the brig were stuck halfway open. A tech in blue overalls had removed a wall panel and was examining the wiring under the neutral eye of a uniformed security guard. 

“What’s the issue?” Bobbie asked. The guard shrugged. Imperial security had learned to respect Bobbie, but they’d never like or trust her. 

“Circuit short,” the tech said cheerfully. “I’ll have it fixed in a jiff.” He was vaguely familiar. It was impossible for Bobbie to familiarize herself with every last one of the six hundred people who crewed the _ UNN Charanpal _ , but she thought she’d seen the burly pale man before. 

“Make it snappy,” Bobbie said, and awkwardly shimmied through the stuck door into the cool darkness of the brig. 

Clarissa Mao was, to all appearances, entirely securely contained. She sat hunched in one corner of her cell, and stared at Bobbie. 

“You’re Bobbie Draper,” Mao said, eyes wide. “You killed the last president of Mars.”

“I actually didn’t,” Bobbie said. “But no one ever believes me when I say that, for some reason.” 

Mao was silent, and then she said, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“She probably won’t kill you,” Bobbie said. “But she does like throwing people into dark holes to rot. So you can look forward to that.”

“Thanks,” Mao said.

“Welcome,” Bobbie said. She doublechecked all protocols at the security console, and copied all its codes onto her own tablet. Then she turned, squeezed out through the still unfixed door, and headed back up to what she couldn’t help thinking of as the ‘party deck’. 

  
  


When the trouble hit, it was in the middle of what Bobbie thought of as ‘night’, though the ship was actually in the process of decelerating as it passed in endless loops across the Earth’s sky, traveling through morning and noon and night. Bobbie was lying in bed, naked except for her underwear. Avasarala, wrapped in a silk robe, was taking up most of the bed, which was fine because it was a very large mattress. Avasarala was snoring. 

Bobbie couldn’t have said exactly what it was that woke her up, but something did. She rolled soundlessly out of bed, retrieved her gun from the bedside dresser, and crouched behind the bedframe, gun aimed at the bedroom door. 

She heard a distant noise, and knew it was a repeat of what had woken her up. The noise of a gunshot. 

There was a knock on the door. Bobbie stayed very still and silent. 

The knock came again. Bobbie heard Chrisjen mutter something, and prayed for her to stay asleep just a few moments longer. 

A pause. Then, very slowly, the door handle turned. 

“Don’t shoot,” someone said, and Bobbie nearly pulled the trigger just from recognizing the voice of the cheerful tech from the brig. 

Chrisjen sat up in bed. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Please stay where you are, madam,” Bobbie said as calmly as she could. 

“Fuck you. What’s happening?”

“You’re being couped,” the man in the doorway said. “Is that how you say it? Whatever. It’s not us. We’re here to help.”

“Like hell you are,” Bobbie said. “Give me one reason not to shoot you right now.”

The man shrugged. “Peaches probably wouldn’t like it.”

And suddenly, there was a knife at her throat and someone breathing down her neck. “Drop the gun,” said the voice of Clarissa Mao. 

“This,” Avasarala said, “is the worst Monday I’ve had in a while.”


End file.
